


Cooking

by i_write_fanfics_to_procrastinate



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Baby Nero, Dadgil, Dadgil Week (Devil May Cry), Drabble, Gen, They're both trying, but still, he's a good dad okay, nero and dante make a mess, not really he's like seven, soft, vergil smiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_write_fanfics_to_procrastinate/pseuds/i_write_fanfics_to_procrastinate
Summary: Vergil wakes up to a mess... This has to be Dante's fault.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 102





	Cooking

Vergil woke to the smell of something burning. He sat in quiet for just a moment, glancing towards his curtained window, seeing the pale light of a rainy Sunday just outside. He must have dozed off while he was reading the night before. It was so quiet besides the tapping of rain on the window. And then he panicked. _Nero_! Something was burning…. And Nero… He stood from his chair by the window, and yanked on his coat, rushing out into the hall. The burn smell was more apparent here, he rushed into Nero’s room to find the child’s bed empty, and he paused, panic once again tight in his chest.

“Nero?” He paused, taking in a deep breath. _Relax._ And then, with purpose, he moved down the stairs quickly, following the smell of whatever was burning. He turned the corner to the kitchen to be faced with disaster. Dante was leaning over a smoking griddle on the stove—there were eggshells across the counter, milk spilled near the fridge, a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Nero was standing on a stool, tears in his big blue eyes.

“Uncle Dante, I think we _ruined it_ ,” he whispered, lip trembling, and then he caught sight of his father, standing at the corner of the room, and his eyes widened, quickly wiping the tears away from his cheeks. “Dad? You’re supposed to be asleep.

Dante stood up straight, eyes wide, “Y-yeah, Vergil. You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“What kind of momentous occasion really convinced you to try and cook something, Dante?” Vergil said. “If you were hungry you could have just ordered pizza.” Though, the thought of Nero eating pizza, of all things, for breakfast made Vergil irritated all by itself.

“I asked Uncle Dante to help me make breakfast!” Nero said, trying to defend his uncle.

“Nero, you know Dante can’t cook,” Vergil sighed, moving over to the counter to collect the eggshells and toss them in the garbage. “Why didn’t you come wake me?”

“Cuz—”

“ _Be_ cause.” Vergil corrected gently, grabbing some paper towels to sop up the milk.

Dante let out a dramatic sigh, “ _C_ _uz_ it’s Father’s Day, Vergil.” Vergil paused, still leaning over to clean up the spilled milk and then he straightened slowly, tossing the sopping paper towels into the trash bin. _Father’s Day._

He remembered the first time he had ever celebrated Father’s Day. Though it wasn’t quite as dramatic as this, it had made him feel… proud. He had walked to the preschool to pick his son up around lunchtime as per usual. The toddler had appeared at the door of his preschool, holding his teacher’s hand. The moment he set his eyes on his father, he had rushed out, across the preschool yard, beaming, and when he had reached Vergil, he had thrown his arms around his legs.

“I made somethin’ for ‘ou, daddy!” He had held up a drawing, Vergil still had it taped to the wall above his bedstand. Nero had been too young to write, so his teacher had scrawled across the top of the page: _Happy Father’s Day._ And then: _My favorite thing to do with dad:_ He had drawn too little stick figures—one smaller than the other. “You’re reading me a story,” he had said.

_Father’s Day._ Vergil was pulled back to the present by his now seven-year-old son tugging on his sleeve. “Dad? Are you mad?” He whispered, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry Uncle Dante and I burned the eggs.”

“No, I’m not mad,” Vergil said, a lump in his throat.

“I wanted to make you something,” Nero said. “Cuz… _Be_ cause you always make _me_ breakfast… I wanted to make _you_ breakfast.”

Vergil glanced over at where Dante was sheepishly trying to scrape the blackened eggs into the garbage. “Looks like Uncle Dante ruined the griddle.” Vergil frowned.

“I’m sorry, dad—” Nero began.

“There’s no reason for you to apologize,” Vergil said softly, smoothing down his son’s messy hair. “I appreciate the gesture. But why don’t we make breakfast _together?_ ”

The smile that appeared on his son’s face filled Vergil with warmth. Though it hadn’t turned out the way the child had expected, with the opportunity to teach Nero some more responsible cooking methods, Vergil was sure this Father's Day would turn out to be even better than the first. 


End file.
